Firstly, I don’t know why this image looks so posterized; there is still much I must learn about my new camera, and I guess this is the fault I get for relying on Auto settings, combined with the ambient color-changing neon lights of PULSEbar.
But anyway, after waking up Monday morning with a hangover, a lot worse than I could have expected from just one Four Loko (along with about seven beers), I said that I don’t ever want to drink again, which will remain true until the next time I decide to drink. But one thing that will remain true is that my fascination with Four Lokos can officially be said to be completely over now. The shit is truly the Devil’s piss, and even after being burned by it for the first time at New Year’s, I couldn’t stand that I still had three extra cans, that ultimately would need to get drank some day.
And these weren’t the same cans of what you can find in the store today, these were cans of the Four Loko that killed college kids all across America, before it was ultimately banned, taken off shelves, had the stimulants toned down, re-packaged in a can that made no allusions to the stims in it, and put back on the shelves. These were cans of the death shit that killed kids, that I had acquired before they were taken off the shelves in Georgia.
If there was ever one occasion to bust them out, where it was slightly more okay to get stupid drunk, then Dragon-Con was it. Since my boy Luis is getting married in a month, and he proved to love the watered-down shit so much back during his bachelor party, it seemed like a good idea to expose him to some of the real shit. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him go through the gates of hell alone.
Needless to say, I was growing frustrated throughout the weekend at my inability to maintain a buzz. The beer I was drinking throughout the weekend was making me feel more bloated and burpy rather than actually warm and inebriated. I had a room god damn it, and I wanted to earn my right to get hammered, and not have to worry about hopping in my car and risking a DUI. So devil’s piss Four Loko, to the rescue.
As was the case back in January, after the can was empty, I was pretty much loaded. People who didn’t know me back when I didn’t drink, saw me when I did. It was kind of like Popeye eating his spinach, or when Aisha, Adam, and Rocky found out who the original Mighty Morphin Power Rangers were, and they had that awkward “We know who you really are” relationship before they took over. I’m pretty sure I hit on several women based on some photographs from the evening, and I vaguely recall professing my unyielding loyalty and love for some of my closest friends, multiple times over. All in good times though.
But as much as I admit that the drunken crutch Four Loko injected into my evening, I’d like to think that I think I’m really done with that morbid swill. The hangover was surprisingly large, and I don’t think worth it. But I also fear that I may see its watered-down bastard child as the means to acquiring a good drunken time on the cheap no less.
It’s like the Four Loko Stockholm Syndrome…
